Honest Stuff I Make Up · · Tucson

Anton Rubs it In

I for one am sick and tired of Anton acting so superior for never having seen Evita.

“What was that last one?”
— “You Must Love Me, from the Evita soundtrack.”
— “Never saw Evita.”
— “I know. You remind me every chance you get.”
— “Don’t do showtunes. Hey, turn this one up. This stuff from Who’s That Girl? is enjoying something of a, well, a renaissance. People didn’t pay much attention when it first came out. Now it’s like a new face of Madonna a lot of people have never really seen.”
— “Except on Easter Island?”
— “Easter Island?”
— “It’s the Mardi Gras after-party. You know, like Fire Island, but on the bayou.”
— “Gotcha.”

On payday, Anton and I take our lunches and eat them at the downtown headquarters of the West Eastern Blenman Elm Houseboys Organized Services, which is where the paychecks are cut and all the big cheeses also are. Though it is out of the way, it has become something of a pilgrimage since we both got a DVD and the handsome doctor we met at Best Buy recommended we rent that movie with Sally Field as Martha Raye. That was a blessing in disguise really because since then we have been just about the most noisy and vociferous of any of the domestics in all the WEBEHOS when it comes to oral health and labor.

Today finds us squeezing limes (ouch!) over freshly made ceviche tostadas and sipping cold jicama bisque outside Dental Benefits Coordinator Geoffery Cragmont’s office. Yes, Cragmont, that cheap bastard. He would require us to turn our teeth in with our knee pads each night if he thought he could get away with it.

Actually, some of the gardeners do, in fact, do just that. Though, I think it is more because they so identify with, copy and otherwise immolate their, excuse my language, their oppressors, and fool themselves into believing that by removing their teeth each night, they can somehow win favor with The Man.

Curious.

Anyhow, we are protesting the new plan-approved dentists and as soon as we finish our lunch, we quietly slip the unsigned letter we have written under Cragmont’s door. Yes, Cragmont, that cheap bastard! All of the approved providers are located in Tepotzlan, a town south of Tucson. Tepoztlan is famous mostly for an Aztec pyramid, but also for its ratio of dentists to townspeople, which is about one-to-five. So you see, in addition to its religious and cultural significance, Tepotzlan is a benefits coordinator’s dream come true. My only objection is it is a thousand miles from here and none of our employers will let us have the car for that long.

Not even if we promise to bring back special beads.

Anton tells me his boss, Tommy Ache, is gone for the rest of the day helping the mayor pick out a comfortable pair of sneakers, so if I want I can come over and help him “finish off the old man’s weed.”

Anton, as usual is only thinking of himself. He knows marijuana makes me simultaneously so very anti-social, paranoid, hungry and sexually horny that the only time I can stand the stuff is when I am alone in bed with a chef I love and trust.

Selfish Anton. Selfish, selfish, selfish!

I offer to meet up with him after he has finished his chore.

“—Let’s see the new Star Wars.”
—No can do. There’s a game on later and the milkman invited me over to his place to slam some.

I have seen this milkman, and frankly that sounds like it would hurt.

At least at first.